How to Marry a Warlock in 10 Days

by Saranna Dewylde

  It was false advertising that he was nothing like his centerfold. Of course, if his centerfold was as good as all that, witches would have no reason to put up with him in the flesh.

  The very fine and utterly delicious flesh.

  She thought about her recently neglected copy of Weekly Warlock and figured that since Tally was gone and she was all alone, what better way to pass a few hours? She’d make him call her “mistress” again and this time, maybe she wouldn’t just be riding his face like a show pony.

  Middy Cherrywood had a dirty little secret.

  It wasn’t that she used Weekly Warlock to jill-off. She’d made that right in her head a long time ago. It was that she’d never let her fantasy do the actual deed. She’d had him perform every deviation known to man and warlock with his tongue and fingers, and she’d inspected his package at length, but she’d never wanted to let it anywhere near . . .

  It was supposed to feel real, so would it hurt? What if she got attached? He was just a 3-D pleasure program and not the real Dred. These were the questions that she’d asked herself.

  But she wanted to be prepared for the real thing. She didn’t want any more surprises like what had happened in the limo. He’d seemed downright maiden aunt about the whole thing. Totally unacceptable.

  Middy pulled the latest centerfold out from under her pillow. Merlin, but if that wasn’t a fine piece of warlock.

  The witch that actually got to marry him was going to be a very lucky creature. Of course, she’d have to put her foot down about him displaying his parts far and wide for any who cared to see. Or fantasize about pillaging. At least, that’s what Middy would do.

  She turned to Dred’s page and he appeared just as naked and hard as she’d left him. Just as willing to fulfill her every desire.

  “I want this to be like it was really you,” she informed the naked Dred charm.

  “Really me, Mistress?” he answered, a dazed look on his normally sharp features.

  “Stop with the ‘mistressing.’ I want this encounter to be like it would if I were really with Dred Shadowins. Not touching me how I’ve programmed you, but how he would touch me.”

  “I’m afraid that’s impossible.” He shrugged his massive shoulders. “Otherwise, why would witches bother if they could get the real thing in a centerfold? You’re a smart witch; I’d think you’d know better.” The program looked at her with blatant disapproval.

  “Damn,” she swore. It didn’t make her feel better and it didn’t solve her problem either.

  “I guess you’ll just have to use your tongue instead.”

  Middy splayed her legs wide, exposing the soft flesh that yearned for his mouth.

  “I guess so.” The corner of his mouth turned up in a trademark Shadowins’s smirk.

  “I’m getting back talk from a centerfold. Shut up and be objectified,” she demanded.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Middy decided that she liked ma’am even better than mistress.

  The Dred charm didn’t kiss her, didn’t trace his fingers along the contours of her skin, and he didn’t maneuver her to his pleasure. All he did was put his tongue to her. Leave it to Middy to find something to complain about in a cun-nilingus charm that she’d written herself.

  She knew that she was in big trouble. Middy had been almost addicted to this Dred charm, and now it really wasn’t doing much for her. It looked like him; hell, it even smelled like him, but it wasn’t him.

  Middy pushed her fingers through his hair. It felt the same, it was so silky. The sensation was so real. She felt the tongue flicking faster and harder and she let her mind drift back to the limo, always back to the limo, when she’d been in his lap. The naughty feel of her nakedness against his cock, the way her hips had moved instinctively against him, the intensity between them when their eyes had met and the sensation of being beneath him.

  She’d felt so completely possessed by him and he hadn’t even been inside of her yet. Middy cried out as the charm responded to her need and filled her with sensation. It was delicious and decadent, but it was nothing like what Dred had wrought.

  Middy squirmed against the tireless tongue, arched her back to meet his mouth, to demand more. Her demands turned into pleas as she reached a plateau. Release was just out of her grasp.

  She imagined Dred inside of her, and opened her eyes to look at the head bent down between her thighs. But even as he looked up and met her gaze, it was still not enough.

  So many times before, that was all that it had taken to send her spiraling through an endless sea of pleasure—to see his eyes darken as they met hers. To know she had power over him, but this was something else.

  She whimpered, “Dred!” It was an entreaty and a demand both. It was a benediction from lips that longed to sin more wholly.

  Her fingers were curled around the duvet and her body was taut and straining. She let out a frustrated high-pitched sound that had started out as a sigh and ended in a scream.

  Middy grabbed the closest thing to her, which was the Weekly Warlock and sent it flying across the room.

  Too bad Tally had forgotten to lock the damn door because there was Dred Shadowins, in the flesh.

  Middy’s mouth fell open and her jaw seemed to unhinge itself. She desperately wanted to say something that would make this go away. She knew that he’d seen everything, Middy Cherrywood jilling-off with his likeness because the real thing had turned her down. It didn’t get any more humiliating.

  In that moment, she wished that she was Tally. Tally would have had something to say that would put him on his ass quicker than a junk punch. She’d say something like,

  “Want to help?” or “Fuck me now,” or any number of other things that had to sound better than the creaky sound of her jaw trying to close.

  “Poor Midnight,” he said. “You just need the real thing.”

  Coming from any other mouth that would have sounded trite. It would have sounded like a letter that had been typed one-handed to Cauldron Forum. But it wasn’t. Not with the way his eyes were like a twilight storm, the hard, determined set of his jaw, and the measured exhale of breath against her skin when he sank to his knees on the bed.

  He didn’t allow her to protest, didn’t permit her to shatter the moment with her embarrassment. The first touch of his tongue sent an electric jolt through her such as she’d never felt before.

  Middy would like to say that she’d made him work for it, but she’d been so close for so long. She tried to fight her orgasm because she wanted it to last longer, but it was just too good to resist.

  “So sweet,” he whispered between strokes.

  He was talking about her. Talking about tasting her! She spasmed and tightened; Dred was just what she needed to push off of that plateau. His mouth sent her careening over the edge and she was screaming his name and who knew what else. There could have been some Latin in there somewhere, she wasn’t sure.

  When her eyes fluttered open, he was watching her intently.

  Middy had assumed that after he’d worn her muffin like a hat, maybe he would want to do other things. He seemed content just to watch her, but she was not content with that state of affairs. Twice, he’d been diving into her nethers and twice, he’d demurred.

  Was she dirty? Did she smell? Was it not tasty? She’d never tasted it, so she didn’t know. It couldn’t be the whole virgin thing, could it? He’d made a deal though, given his word. It was a magickal binding. He had to put out even-tually.

  He was still staring at her.

  She was afraid to say anything for fear of what would come out of her mouth or that she’d be rejected again. A witch could only ask to be plowed like a field so many times before it was just embarrassing. Not that it could get any more embarrassing than having the object of your lust walk in on incontrovertible proof that he was the entirety of the deposits in the spank bank.

  Middy realized her legs were still wide.

  Did she have something strange down there that was diff
erent from all of the other witches he’d . . . She looked at him with the question in her eyes, even though it hadn’t passed her lips. Her traitorous mouth couldn’t be trusted to stop with one question.

  He shook his head and grimaced. “I just can’t, Middy. By Merlin and the Morrigan, how I want to.” Dred moved up the bed to lie next to her.

  That made no sense to her whatsoever. She’d thought warlocks were always eager. At least that was what she’d always heard. Dred was supposed to be a sex god. So far, he’d been acting like a monk. It was bad for her self-esteem.

  He licked his lips and closed his eyes, his snowflake lashes brushing his cheeks. Dred looked as if he were savoring some divine dish.

  Middy had to clench her thighs together when she realized that the divine dish was the taste of her witchy bits.

  “Then why don’t you? I thought that you indulged in all things hedonist,” Middy said as if she were the most experienced and inviting of tarts.

  “Because my cock is killing me.”

  Middy hadn’t expected so blunt an answer.

  “Why? Did you sprain it? Or did you break it off in Aloe Hugginfroth?”

  “You know what? Never mind. Plotting is more important. Did you get an invitation from Barista Snow?”

  “I did, actually.”

  “Don’t you think it would be nice to discuss why I need you to pose as my fiancée? Or maybe what you’re going to say to my mother when you meet her?”

  “See, I would have called you. If I’d had your stupid Witch berry number. And speaking of calling, you could have called before you came over. Or, I don’t know, knocked? What is it with warlocks and knocking? Are you allergic to it?”

  “What other warlocks have been over here without knocking?” Dred narrowed his eyes and in them Middy could see horrible fates awaiting those trespassers.

  She found that she rather liked it. Her “fiancé” was feeling protective.

  “My brothers, actually. Raven incinerated my door. Douche bag.”

  “Brothers as in plural? You have more than one?”

  Middy rolled her eyes. “Falcon, Hawk, and Raven Cherry wood: the Trifecta of Doom.”

  “Seriously? Those are your brothers?”

  “What, like there is more than one Cherrywood?” Middy rolled her eyes again.

  “Damn it.”

  “I think that warrants stronger verbiage.”

  “Only you could sit there sky clad and discuss verbiage.”

  He looked thoughtful for a moment. “Well, you and Mrs. Tinterbox from AP Lit senior year.”

  Middy took stock of herself and pulled the duvet over her nakedness. “I’m not even going to ask. I don’t want to know.”

  “Why does it warrant stronger verbiage, as you so elo-quently put it?” Dred asked. He seemed genuinely curious, as if he didn’t already know that meeting her brothers was a fate worse than death.

  “Why do you think? For such a brilliant businessman, sometimes I think you’re half stupid.”

  “Only half? Thanks,” he snorted.

  “They want to meet you.”

  “I’d assumed.” Dred shrugged.

  “My mother wants you to come for dinner.”

  “That’s what comes with being affianced. I thought you witches knew all about this sort of thing?”

  “You don’t understand.” She sighed heavily.

  “Explain it to me.”

  “My brothers. The Trifecta of Doom. Back at the Academy, I never had a date make it past the foyer.”

  “Well, I’m not just any date. I’m—”

  “The warlock they want to slice into little pieces and make into Solstice gravy.”

  “It’s not that bad. I’m rich and I have pull with the council. My lineage can be traced back to Avalon. Why wouldn’t they approve?” Dred shrugged again.

  “Infamy, maybe?” Middy thought she was going to get seasick from how many times her eyes had rolled to the back of her head of their own volition. “I still think you’re insane, but since I gave you my witch’s word, I can’t really explain it to them, now can I?”

  “No, Midnight. I’m sorry, but you can’t.”

  A small, frustrated sound escaped her.

  “I brought something to show you—” He appraised her for a moment. “I’d meant to show it to you before lunch, but . . .” He shrugged his shoulders as if it were all out of his control and winked at her.

  Before lunch? They hadn’t eaten yet. Middy cocked her head to the side as if the motion could rattle her cogs loose and help realization set in. She didn’t know what there was to wink about either. He was just talking about . . .

  He meant her muffin!

  Sweet Circe, this warlock was trying to kill her. It would be death by muffinquake. Everything he said was candycoated with sex and each of those syllables out of his mouth made her body clench.

  This was really it. She was lighting Weekly Warlock on fire. No more jilling-off to him. Not that it got her anywhere anyway. Not after this blatant show of “cunning lin-guistics.”

  She really meant that this time, unlike the previous four times when she was just vowing for effect. Really.

  “I am coming to enjoy that shade of pink.”

  In that second, Middy realized she’d had enough. He had all the power here and she was going to get some of it back.

  Or she was going to die of embarrassment trying.

  “Coming?” She repeated the word for effect. “Doesn’t look like it to me. You’re not even breathing heavy.” Middy smiled and reached over to put her hand boldly on his package. “Doesn’t feel like it either.”

  Dred made a sound low in his throat and Middy realized that the previously mentioned package had just become a special delivery. It hardened beneath her touch and she was curious to know more.

  He caught her wrist. “Midnight! Sweet hell, no.”

  “Tell me more about why you’re on the injured list,”

  Middy said. “I think I deserve to know what’s keeping me from my payment.”

  Dred gritted his teeth and closed his eyes; he took a deep breath. “That’s going to be just as bad, Midnight.” He pulled her against him and he shifted his weight so that their mouths were only seconds apart. “It was the night of the Masque.”

  “The night when you abandoned me to find my own pleasure?” Middy couldn’t believe the words that had just fallen out of her mouth with no care as to where they crashed.

  “Yes, Midnight. You were so wet for me, but I was trying my damndest to . . .” He frowned and the slashes of his eyebrows drew together. “You’re a virgin and the Cause is so much more than this.”

  He’d just said that this “Cause” of his was so much more important to him than being wand deep in her, but the way he’d said it almost made up for the blow to her pride. Dred leaned close to her, his hard body pressing her into the mattress, his breath sweet and minty on her lips. The duvet was between them, but she was hyperaware of her nakedness beneath.

  “Tell me more,” she demanded as her eyes fluttered closed with desire.

  “What do you want to hear, Midnight? That I wanted to fuck you? That I’ve imagined the sweet heat of you tight around my cock? Or do you want to know what I was doing while I was imagining your body? That I was touching my cock, sliding my hand back and forth trying to come, all the while knowing it was nothing compared to what it would like to be deep inside of you?”

  Middy arched up into him, his words a caress as potent and real as his hands over her body.

  “And I couldn’t come, because it wasn’t what I wanted. I wanted you. So, I kept stroking, touching. . . .”

  Middy could see everything that he described to her. His strong hands wrapped around his cock, his head tilted back in pleasure, even a bead of sweat forming on his upper lip as he worked his cock to images of her.

  His words gave her a heady power.

  “Now please, Middy. It took forever to come and I’m so sore.”

  She w
as already sore from her multiple missed orgasms, so she supposed it would be a good idea to quit taunting him. And herself.

  “Okay, but I’m going to hold you to that.”

  Dred rolled onto his back, his eyes closed, and his hand making a protective cup near his groin, though he wasn’t quite touching it.

  He pulled out his Witchberry and tossed it to her. “Call yourself. Then you’ll have my number. Look at my last text from Godrickle and you’ll understand why you have to help me. Our mission is to stop the person behind the murders of the hatchling gargoyles. There are photos of one of the crime scenes.” Dred tried to sit up. “Where’s the kitchen? I need some ice.”

  “I could just—”

  He interrupted. “I’ll get it the old-fashioned way, thanks.

  And for the love of Merlin, please be dressed when I get back.”

  Middy was surprised that he just tossed her his Witchberry. Most magickal folk carried around their whole lives in these things and he’d just tossed it to her like a dirty sock.

  It felt kind of naughty to be cruising through his personal files. She had to say that she liked it. She paused on a picture of someone named Karla. A pretty witch, but too skinny for Dred. In Middy’s opinion, anyway. Then she saw the text from Chancellor Godrickle.

  Well, rocky road fudge! Dred had been telling the truth.

  He was a spy.

  That little nugget of clarity caused her to debate opening the attachment. A lead weight dropped from her throat into her gut. It told her, no, it screamed, that if she looked at whatever was in that file, it was going to change everything.

  For a moment, she thought maybe that was a little overdra-matic.

  Until she opened the file.

  Middy dropped the device in horror as image after image of brutality appeared on the screen. Fledgling gargoyles, mutilated and murdered. It wasn’t so much the blood—she’d seen that before. It was look of terror on those little faces, the eyes wide, and the bow mouths open, pleading for their mothers.

  It was a wanton destruction of innocence.

  She felt completely helpless as the images flashed before her, helpless to get away from them because those scenes had been tattooed into her awareness, and helpless to do anything but sit there and damn a world where something like this could happen.